Mortal Danger

by Ann Aguirre

He nodded. “We have some planning to do.”

  Music to my ears. Inside, the apartment was small, cluttered with books. There was no television; I had been lucky to persuade my parents I needed a laptop for homework and research. I also watched shows on the Internet—not that they knew. I suspected my parents believed I was too serious and focused to pursue mindless entertainment, but sometimes I really needed to hide out in somebody else’s world when mine became unbearable.

  The old brown tweed sofa sagged in the middle. Kian didn’t seem to notice when he sank down on one end. I sat on the other, hoping I didn’t look as nervous as I felt.

  “You’ll have to go away for the summer,” he said.

  Talk about lobbing a brick. “What?”

  “Think about it. Your parents will question the changes if they happen overnight. We need to build a credible framework.”

  “So I’m going to makeover camp? Or a Swiss finishing school? Somehow I don’t think my parents will go for it.”

  Kian shook his head. “That’s why we craft the story to fit the audience. I bet they’d love it if you were accepted to the Summer Science Program, where you sharpen your academics and get college credit at the same time.”

  “Yeah,” I said in surprise. “They would.”

  “The actual changes? I can knock them out in a couple of hours. But you have to be gone or your parents will question how it’s possible.”

  “And on campus, I’ll have a chance to practice being … the new me.”

  “Exactly. It’s a no-risk setting for a test run. By the time you go back to Blackbriar, you’ll be self-assured, ready to teach them a lesson.”

  I’d read all the psychology books. In theory, I knew that confidence worked wonders when it came to dealing with other people. That didn’t mean I could achieve it on my own; I had spent years doubting my worth on every level except my brain.

  But Kian could give me a boost …

  I put that aside, troubled over his insights. “You knew about the rabbits … you know I go to Blackbriar. How much do you know about me, exactly?”

  He didn’t answer, only offered a level look, which was the only reply I needed. I told myself it was part of his job, and I shouldn’t freak out. There were probably a hundred other ugly girls in his phone, assigned by some creepy bureau of supernatural resources.

  So I asked something else. “You really think I can pull this off?”

  “The assholes at Blackbriar won’t know what hit them.” For a moment, a cruel light burned in his jade eyes, more catlike in the morning light.

  “That sounds almost … personal. Do you have a score to settle there, too?”

  “No,” he said quickly. “Of course not. I just want to see them get what’s coming, after what they did to you.”

  Naturally, he’d sympathize with me. If he had been a freak, geek, or misfit before his favors kicked in, he had scars where it didn’t show. The bullies did deserve this. No question. I’d hadn’t done anything to them.

  Yet.

  I never told him what I planned to do, though. “How do you know I don’t just want to be beautiful?”

  His chin dropped, eyes sliding away from mine. “I saw the expression in your eyes when you asked. I’ve seen it before. And there’s nothing simple about it.”

  He was right about that. The Teflon crew had created in me a powerful cocktail of hate, anger, shame, and a burning desire for justice. Maybe somebody like me couldn’t get it at Blackbriar, but the new Edie could.

  I tapped the arm of the couch, frowning. “Back to the SSP. They require applications for a program like that, usually with references. I don’t see how I can get in. It’s already—”

  “You saw what I could do earlier.” Kian chuckled. “You’ve accepted that I can change how you look. Now you’re questioning if I can get your name on a list?”

  Heat pinked my cheeks, and I ducked my head. My glasses slipped down my nose. “When you put it that way … wait, this doesn’t count as my second favor, does it?”

  “No. You’re not asking to get into the SSP, so it’s an adjunct service as the most expeditious way to grant your request with minimal disruption to your life.”

  “And that’s important to your bosses, I guess?”

  He nodded. “If parents become suspicious, it complicates the situation. They prefer not to make deals with minors, but extremis happens when it happens.”

  My head spun with the wild revelations that just kept piling up. By this point, numbness took over. I’d process this stuff later.

  Kian went on, “I’ll take care of the registration and travel arrangements. It’s up to you to convince your parents.” He had his cell phone in his hand and tapped away, checking something. “The session I have in mind starts in three days.”

  So soon. I didn’t know if I was ready, but excitement thrummed through me, supplanting the shock. It was three parts terror and one part anticipation, all better than the dread and dejection that had dogged my steps since winter break.

  “I’ll handle them,” I promised. “Text me the flight time?”

  Gold flecks sparked in his green eyes when he smiled at me. Reluctantly I shared his amusement because it was infectious. A laughing Kian was … beyond lovely. But he didn’t explain what was so funny.

  I sighed. “What’d I say now?”

  “It’s cute that you think I’m booking you on a plane.”

  Belatedly I remembered the insta-trip to the mountaintop. “Because this is favor-related, you can port me?”

  “You’re such a smart girl,” he mocked gently.

  “Whatever.”

  “I’ll be back for you in two days, Edie. Pack light. You’ll need a new wardrobe before we’re done anyway.”

  “And that’s part of the deal?” I asked, fascinated.

  “Sure. Clothes impact the perception of beauty.”

  “Sweet.” I’d always hated shopping, but it might be different if I liked looking in the mirror. “You’re like a regular fairy godfather.”

  Pure, ferocious rage flared to life before Kian shut it down. “Don’t call me a fairy. It’s risky. Dangerous, even.”

  Whoa. What the hell.

  “I didn’t—”

  “Wings, sparkle-dust, mischief. Puck, Oberon, Titania, Tir na Nog, land beneath the hill. That about cover it?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “If you call some things, they will come. And then they don’t leave.”

  That sounded scary as hell, and like a certain noseless supervillain. A shiver went through me. “Noted.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.”

  “No prob. I got it. Don’t call the you-know-whats.” I wondered about the rage-flare, whether he’d had a bad experience with things that didn’t go away, but like his almost suicide, I didn’t know him well enough to ask.

  Maybe someday.

  “I should get going.” Kian seemed subdued, troubled by his outburst.

  I studied him. “Do you … live somewhere?”

  He looked around my age—eighteen or so—but he must be older. How much depended on what his second and third favors had been. What if he’d asked for eternal youth? He could be like a hundred. Gross. He didn’t talk like a geriatric, but if he hung around kids a lot, that would keep him current. No matter how hot he was, I couldn’t get past that age gap. Not that he wanted me to.

  “Yes. I live … somewhere.” Faint sarcasm flavored his tone. Regardless of how exotic it was to me, this must seem like a dead-end customer service job to him, explaining the rules to new clients and feeling annoyed when they didn’t catch on right away.

  That didn’t mean I was putting up with attitude, even from the guy who pulled me off the bridge. “Later, Kian. See you in two days.”

  After he left, I went to my room and removed my jacket. Years ago, I’d papered my walls with posters of famous scientists like Madame Curie and Albert Einstein. I had the one with Einstein sticking his tongue out, a reminder that genius sh
ould always maintain a sense of humor. I was aware this didn’t look like a teenager’s room. My desk was too clean, organized by type of supplies, and dominated by the high-end printer/scanner plugged into my laptop.

  If I had any friends to invite over, they’d make fun of everything, including the books on floor beside my bed. I was always reading four different volumes, and only one of them was a novel. At the moment, I had a biography of Lise Meitner, a copy of A Brief History of Time, half burying a collection of plays by Samuel Beckett. At the bottom of the pile lay a science fiction novel, too dry to hold my interest.

  On my desk, I still had the DNA model I’d built for biology. A+ work. Other signs of my nerdery dotted the room: laptop, a bag of dice, replica of the Starship Enterprise, a Tardis that lit up when you put coins in the slot on top, and some half-painted miniatures. There might be tons of people like me all over the world, but from what I could tell, they didn’t go to Blackbriar. If they did, they hid the signs better than I ever had.

  I took the rocks out of my pockets and put them in a crate in my closet. On autopilot, I put on pajamas and brushed my teeth. Though I didn’t expect to sleep, the nap claimed me quickly and I didn’t dream. Well, nothing I remembered anyway, but when I woke, I was oddly stiff and sore, as if the experience had changed me from the inside out. I raised my arms over my head and the marks were still on my wrists. Yet I felt oddly superstitious, like I might be hallucinating.

  Coma dream? Dead girl walking? If so, this was the freakiest afterlife ever.

  Coming up on my knees, I fought a burst of hysteria and peered at the marks in the mirror on the back of my door: Left wrist, ownership character that looked like a kanji; right wrist, infinity sign with a hash mark across the top. The reflection showed them backward, like they should be. Apart from these symbols and a number in my contacts, I had no proof Kian existed. I rolled out of bed and ran to where my phone was plugged into my laptop, charging. My hands shook as I scrolled through my contacts to the Ks.

  You have to be there. I’m not crazy. I’m not.

  Then I found it, pushing out a relieved sigh. Kian. And his number. Closing my eyes, I pushed out an unsteady breath. Though I had no idea how it was possible, he’d transported me to a mountaintop in Tibet, then brought me back like it was nothing. I might not understand his mojo, but …

  It’s real. It happened. He’s coming back.

  Or maybe you’re dreaming, doped up in a psych ward, while doctors write stuff in your chart like, “Unresponsive to reality,” “Becomes agitated when the sedatives wear off.” Oddly, that possibility made it easier to move forward, like doing a high-wire act without a net, certain only that you wouldn’t get hurt if you fell.

  Reassured, I showered and dressed, then put together an impressive package of false documentation using my laptop, the Internet, Photoshop, and my excellent printer. I felt slightly guilty because my parents wouldn’t look too hard at these documents. Why? They trusted me. But this part of the plan hinged on a strong sales pitch, and I had to prove I’d earned a scholarship to the university summer science program.

  Just before I left my room, I shrugged into a hoodie to hide my wrists, though the day was warm enough for air-conditioning, if we’d had it. Since it was past noon, my parents were home. Soon, the conference circuit would begin, where they presented research to their colleagues. Once I turned twelve, I’d traveled with them because they didn’t mind leaving me in a hotel room while they did their thing, but when I was younger, I stayed with Great-Aunt Edith, who called me her namesake and made me walk her Pomeranian.

  “Hello, Edith.” Dad looked up from his paper with an absent smile, peering at me down the rims of his spectacles. He’d missed part of his jaw in shaving, so it prickled with graying whiskers. That sort of thing was common.

  My mother made a noise to acknowledge my existence, but she didn’t look up from scratching on a yellow legal pad. Bowls of half-eaten gruel congealed in the middle of the table, even though they’d presumably gotten home late enough to eat lunch instead, one of my mom’s quirks. She worshiped at the altar of steel-cut oats.

  Showtime. I set my papers on the table and pulled out a chair. By joining them, I did something odd and worthy of a pause.

  My mother looked up. “Yes?”

  You’ve got one shot. Make it good.

  “I wasn’t sure if it would come through, so I didn’t want to get your hopes up … but I’ve been accepted to the Summer Science Program. Full scholarship.”

  Quickly I summarized the benefits of academic focus, college credits, and keeping my brain occupied during the summer. My parents seemed to think if I didn’t use it for those two months, the thing would liquefy and run out my ears. Doubtless they had assumed I’d trail them around all summer, as had become the custom. But since they never paid weren’t paying for another room, maybe they would be glad to have some privacy.

  Ew.

  My father gave me a questioning look. “You didn’t tell us you applied.”

  “It’s pretty competitive. I was afraid you’d be disappointed if I didn’t get in “

  “But you did … and with a full scholarship. Congratulations, darling.” Mom leaned toward me and almost hugged me. But she drew up short and offered an awkward pat on the shoulder instead.

  “When does it start?” Dad asked.

  “In a few days. I know it’s short notice, but—”

  “Actually, we had been concerned about how much you’d be alone this summer, even traveling with us. You can only sit through so many symposiums,” Dad said.

  Mom added, “We’d toyed with the idea of letting you stay home and apply for a job somewhere, but we won’t be in Boston much for the next couple of months.”

  “I wasn’t keen on it,” Dad admitted.

  “You don’t trust me?” I pretended to be hurt.

  “It’s other people I don’t trust.” His tone was pure cranky.

  “So I can go?”

  They exchanged a look, beaming information brain to brain and coming to consensus like the Borg.

  “Of course,” he said. “It’s a tremendous opportunity, and we’re proud of your initiative.”

  “Thanks.” His praise made me twitch because, of course, I hadn’t aimed for better, brighter things. I’d given up. Let the assholes win. The idea lodged in my head; that was so not okay. No matter what, I should’ve kept fighting. I should never have gone to an emotional place where I felt like the bridge offered my best hope.

  Never again, I promised myself.

  Already, I was better. Stronger. With a goal in sight, I could stand anything.

  “Given our conference schedule, this is the best possible outcome for all of us. I’m excited for you. Do we need to book your tickets?” Mom asked.

  “No, it’s all set. Part of the full ride.”

  She beamed. “You must have really impressed them.”

  Well, I impressed somebody. Too bad I knew next to nothing about the people Kian worked for, but he seemed to have come out unscathed. I’d take that as my silver lining.

  Dad reached over to pat my hand. “It’s no secret you’ve been unhappy at school, and I’m relieved to see you planning for the future. You won’t always be surrounded by cretins and knuckle-draggers.”

  Wow. A small spark of shame went through me. I hadn’t realized they noticed my misery. But then, I stayed in my room, mostly. My parents were as weird as I was, and I couldn’t take comfort in their company.

  Mom nodded. “For people like us, college is the next frontier. This is great, not only for the academics, but this summer, you’ll get a glimpse of what the future holds. It’s so much better than high school.”

  More guilt, because I intended to abandon their nerd phylum as soon as possible. For the best reasons, I told myself. To give the beautiful people a taste of their own medicine. I’d get inside enemy lines, then break them down one by one.

  “Great job winning over the selection committee,” Dad said. “
This will look great on college applications in the fall.”

  He has no idea how apt that is.

  I smiled at my parents. “I know. I’m excited they chose me.”

  SO SVENGALI

  The morning I left, my parents tried to see me off. Dad smiled at me, obviously pleased with what he was about to suggest. “We’ll go together on the train, have breakfast at the airport, and then we’ll say good-bye at security.”

  Damn. This was a problem I hadn’t predicted. “That’ll take an hour each way. Don’t you guys have to prepare your papers for presentation, pack, and whatever else?”

  My mom frowned. “It seems wrong to pat your head and say ‘good luck.’ What if you run into trouble on the way?”

  Seriously?

  “I’ll be fine, two trains and a shuttle bus.” Fortunately, I looked up the route as part of my cover story. “And I don’t have much to carry.”

  They both frowned at me, the long pause making me fear that the situation might become untenable. Kian would likely not be amused if I lost half the morning going to the airport and eating breakfast. Once they left, I could probably call him and ask him to meet me there, but what if they wanted to watch me walk through security? I started to sweat.

  “Seriously, it’s fine,” I murmured. “I need to be independent, right?”

  Eventually Dad sighed. “If you’re sure. This feels like it’s happening too soon.”

  “Be careful.” That came from Mom, along with a recitation of things to look out for. “And text us when you get there safely. Remember, we’ll be traveling this summer, but we’ll have our cell phones if you need anything.”

  “Will do … and I won’t forget. Have a productive summer.”

  They both gave me stiff, awkward hugs that were more like thumps on the back, then Dad pressed some cash into my hands and they let me go. As I stepped onto the street, my phone buzzed. After skimming the text message, I walked two blocks as requested, and Kian met me on the corner.

  “You didn’t have any trouble?” he asked.

  “Not much. I know how to manage my parents.”

  Barely.